


You Say Smile, I Think

by frogfarm



Series: Triangulation [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
Genre: Buffy Wishverse, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara offers an olive branch, and possibly more.</p><p>Post-"Doppelgangerland". Willow POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Say Smile, I Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lesbianbutch04](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lesbianbutch04).



> Requested: Stormy night, mention of a soul, pig's blood.

>   
>  _To sink into that hideous coma, to sink then into death and, perhaps, return to sterile, awful wanderings. All without knowing what it was to love and be loved._  
>  \- Richard Matheson

When she got home, the witch was waiting for her.

It was the sort of dark and stormy night the phrase was invented for, the aptly misnamed Sunnydale sky torn open with each blast of thunder. Willow had been scurrying from puddle to puddle, stolen clothes soaked through by rain, weighing her down like a cross as she streaked down the alleyway. Obviously not literally.

Why she was still around was anyone's guess. Being one of the few to survive the battle royale at the high school, pulling splinters from her shoulder as she limped away, the Master's former favorite had naturally assumed this would translate into some cachet. Shouldn't take more than a few days for potential minions to start beating down her door.

Of course that meant the white hats could find her, too. The threat of this new Slayer far exceeded the last; Faith wasn't just more vicious, but a social creature to boot. The woman hadn't been in town a week before she'd put down her stakes (again, obviously not literally), rallying the remaining troops and sending an upraised _digitus impudicus_ to the demon community by setting up headquarters under the roof of City Hall itself. Even at the time, noone would have bet half a preemie kitten that they would ever be afraid to go out after dark. Not in the home of the world's third biggest Hellmouth. Since then, the vampire populace had grown increasingly desperate as they found themselves becoming the persecuted minority. Willow knew it wasn't true, but for some time she'd felt like the only one left. Hell, there was even talk of reopening the college campus.  
  
Her stomach, or the demon inside it, was still protesting. Meals had been inconsistent for weeks, in theory only hastening the process by which some day she would look just like the Master before he went poofy. After all those times she swore she'd die before she resorted to rats. Puppy must be laughing at her from the grave. But the old house on the edge of town with its gothic architecture had always spoken to her, even before they'd tired of his meddling and sent in a troop of non-vamps to drag Angelus kicking and squealing from its protection. She'd had her fun with him, and now he too was dust. The property was quiet, undisturbed; an ideal location to lay low.

Something has disturbed the air.

The scent of human is strong, along with another. Willow sniffs for solvents and flammables. Just a burning candle, in her dingy little room.

She trudges up the stairs like a condemned criminal, too tired to care. When she opens the door, the witch is at her desk, leafing through her journal.

"I thought we should talk." The witch doesn't look up. The cross around her neck glints in the light as she tucks a blonde strand behind one ear.

Willow does her best to ignore the rising hunger. "Aren't you going to buy me a drink?"

The witch nods at a mug sitting on the table. Willow sniffs again, ever cautious for signs of taint or tamper. Pig's blood -- but fresh, unfrozen. You can always tell exploded red cells.

"Didn't think the old man still bothered." Only one farmer in town still bothers to raise livestock. Willow's gut grumbles as she actually finds herself wrestling with the notion of keeping kosher.

"It's not doped." The witch still doesn't look at her. Long, delicate fingers turn the pages of Willow's journal, in search of the unknown or unknowable. "And I'm here alone."  
  
"That sounds like an invitation." Willow manages a hint of the old purr as she slides down onto the secondhand mattress. It lacks a little something without the leather pants. Also the poster bed.

"They don't know I'm here." Another page turns. "I had a few questions for you. About the Ritual of Restoration."

"Shop talk." Willow fights a flicker of unease.

"More than talk." The witch finally looks her in the eye. "I've got an Orb of Thessulah."

"No way!" Caution scatters to the winds. "I thought I saw the last one on Ebay!"

"So you _were_ looking." An almost-smile tugs the corner of the blonde's lips. "Can't blame a girl for being curious."

"Self-preservation." But Willow's contemptuous sneer does a poor job of concealment.

"Your blood's getting cold."

"I'll put it on ice." Willow's eyes narrow to a piercing gaze. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm not powerful enough to perform the ritual. But you are." The blonde glances around the room, taking in their dusty, pathetic surroundings. "At least from what Oz tells me."

"He sent you?" An echo of the old anger ripples through her.

"He didn't send me." The other woman leans forward. Willow takes advantage of peripheral vision to keep looking her in the eye. "He thinks I'm crazy."

"Are you?"

The witch smiles.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

 

**  



End file.
